set the world on fire
by faitaccompli23
Summary: Austin Moon is a brooding thief, used to working alone. Then he meets beautiful, brilliant Ally Dawson, a covert operative who also happens to be his new partner. In which paintings, money and hearts are stolen. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Totally different from anything I've done before, and completely AU. I don't know if this is going to be a full story or just a series of snippets in this universe, but let me know if you all want to see more from these versions of A &amp; A!**

* * *

_"Love is not love _

_which alters when it alteration finds,_

_or bends with the remover to remove..."_

**_Sonnet 116, Shakespeare_**

"You know I value your judgment, Mr. Narts, but I'm not taking a partner."

Austin Moon sprawls back into his chair, glaring at his boss over the mahogany desk. He's been working with Nelson Narts for almost a year now, and he has never questioned the man until now. Since his first job (a Monet, the Met, two paperclips and a Golden Retriever puppy), he's always done field work alone. Really, with the exception of Dez, his inscrutably brilliant tech of a best friend, he's done everything alone. And he likes it that way. Nelson had been his only failed job; he'd broken into Narts house to steal a Van Gogh. It was supposed to be easy, an in and out lift, but instead Austin'd found a note in the frame with a time, a place, and his social security number. He and Dez had been about to leave the country, when Austin's curiosity got the best of him. And the rest was history: Narts, a man of near-unlimited financial means, was the mastermind behind a network of thieves and spies that dispensed its own brand of Robin Hood, vigilante justice. People who worked for Narts were generally the best in their field, not quite law-abiding, and often loners. And Austin Moon is exactly that. He's a spectacular grifter and an even better thief, but acting the part doesn't mean he actually likes being social. It just gets the job done. And the job never_ ever_ involves a field partner.

"I don't know if you misheard me, but you don't have a choice, Moon."

"With Dez running tech for me, I don't need anyone else. Plus, she's new. Untrained. She won't be able to keep up." Austin protests, waving a hand in the direction of the petite brunette glaring at him from the other chair. He settles back into his chair as Nelson Narts motions him to sit.

"Ally's one of the brightest people I've ever met. Plus, she's better with the subtlety than you, Moon." Nelson shuffles the paper on his desk as he looks directly at Austin. "You'll need that on this job."

"All due respect, boss, this is just a retrieval case. The grift's one I've done a million times. Suits and champagne and hobnobbing, then find his office, find proof of embezzlement for his suspicious daughter, then drop a bug in the files. Wham, bam, done."

Nelson opens his mouth to reply when Ally starts speaking.

"Jimmy Starr is a key player in a billion dollar industry. His offices have round the clock security, and his house has even more. And he's notorious for his attachment to the tangible." Austin turns around at her voice, startled, as Ally continues quietly. "This guy is old-school. He does all his accounts on paper, and checks over everything that leaves his desk personally. His connections through the music business are incredibly far-reaching; he's meticulous, careful, and incredibly thorough. He doesn't trust anyone but family, and it's going to be next to impossible to catch him off guard. This party, for Starr Records' birthday? It's the only time during the year that Starr opens his house to guests. The place is going to be crawling with security and only two hundred people are invited. You won't be able to break into his office, crack the safe, and strip his computer without Starr getting suspicious about a missing guest."

Austin blinks at the flood of information, focusing on Ally's face for the first time in the past ten minutes that they've been sitting in Narts' office together. At initial glance, Austin had dismissed her as straitlaced and unassuming: slim and petite, hair pulled back into a sleek, chestnut ponytail, a lilting voice and delicate features, nothing particularly memorable. He does a double take as he meets her eyes for the first time. They are a gilt-edged brown, steady and unreadable, and the clarity of her gaze unnerves him to silence.

The girl in question raises an eyebrow at the nonplussed expression on Austin's face. "It was all in Starr's file." She nods at Nelson. "I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Narts."

The man in question waves a hand in her direction before focusing on Austin. "She's right. Kira Starr came to us because she was worried about her father taking money from company accounts; all she needs is proof. Starr Records is a multibillion dollar corporation. The case is too important to take a risk on you alone, Austin. You may be one of the best thieves I've ever met, but Dawson's combat-trained and a damn good covert operative. She'll cover your ass if and when you need it. And you'll cover hers. Got it?"

Austin's jaw clenches for a moment before he nods once. "Fine."

"Glad you're so reasonable, Moon." Nelson says dryly, pushing his chair back to stand. He meets both their eyes as he leaves, dropping two files on the desk on his way out the door. "Play nice, kids."

* * *

Ally sighs as she straps on a thigh holster. The dress she's wearing is gorgeous: burgundy silk, off-the-shoulder draping, floor-sweeping skirts with artfully constructed slits to access her weaponry. Her hair is swept off her shoulders in a loose twist and the opal-studded clip holding it up actually contains the software that is meant to let her bypass Starr's multiple firewalls. She knows she's prepared; but there's something about elaborate grifts that have always thrown her off. Ally's been a good liar her entire life: with both parents in the CIA, it was practically ingrained in her childhood.

She spent most of her life in and out of operative training classes, and she's been proficient in hand-to-hand combat since her early teens. But she hasn't seen her parents in five years: not since their divorce, not since she ran away from home, not since she found her way to Narts and spent her college years "reaching her potential" to become the kind of person that her parents had dedicated their lives to putting in prison. She doesn't regret it: she'd never been particularly close to her parents, and for a long time, she felt like the CIA held sole responsibility for ripping apart her family. Now she knows differently, but the work she does with Nelson Narts' organization makes her feel fulfilled for the first time in her life. She prefers the cases where she gets to be Ally Dawson, though: even if she has to bump a few heads together, she's always preferred a quick and clean fight, rather than pretending to be someone she's not, at a party she hates.

Admittedly, it's also throwing her off to be working with Austin Moon. For someone who looks like the next Hollywood heartthrob, he's surprisingly withdrawn. She knows who he is, of course: almost everyone in their line of work does. Austin's one of the rare prodigies; born to a suburban family (his parents owned a mattress business, or so Ally had heard), raised in sunny Miami beaches with every appearance of normality. Then he dropped off the grid for a few years, before reappearing on the radar with his partner Dez, a bewilderingly good hacker in his own right. No one knows why he chose this life, or where his talent came from: though there are stories, of course. Ally's heard a few about the mattress business being a cover for mob connections, or childhood participation in a government project gone bad, in one memorable rumor, that he's Al Capone's grandson. Ally thinks he was just brilliant and bored: a dangerous combination, she knows firsthand.

She's startled out of her thoughts when the door behind her creaks open. She whirls around and drops into a crouch before she recognizes the blond hair and broad shoulders of her new partner.

"There's this new thing called knocking. It's really quite useful. Lets people know that you're coming in." She says, returning to studiously sharpening her bracelet's knife attachment. There's a long silence, and she clicks the knife back into place just as Austin finally speaks.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior in Nelson's office."

"Oh good. You're not a total butthead."

"Did you just call me a butthead?"

"Well yeah, you were acting like one." Ally shrugs as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Okay, fair point." Austin concedes, and Ally tilts her head thoughtfully. She'd thought that she had Austin pegged, but his easy acceptance of her criticism isn't quite what she'd expected.

"I understand that you don't want a partner. I didn't particularly want one either. But this is a job."

"And I get that. I just don't like working with people because they can't keep up. No offense." Austin's voice is frustrated, and Ally swallows her first defensive response in favor of something a little more neutral.

"Careful. Your ego is showing again." Ally she says wryly, as she finishes sliding the last knife into its holster, resettling her skirts around her. _Okay, not that neutral._

"Not that you're not good at what you do. I'm sure you are." He shrugs. "I'm just better. You're trained for combat, for knives and fights and there's merit to that. But playing a role for a job takes a lot more finesse than fighting. You definitely look the part; but you're not forward or aggressive enough for the social-climber that you're supposed to be. If you need any pointers about selling the image-" Austin pauses as Ally steps closer to him.

Sooty lashes brush against her cheeks as she looks down. After a moment, she glances up at him from under her eyelashes, winding slim fingers around the lapel of his jacket. She takes a step closer as she speaks, voice sultry.

"I'm sure I could use any advice you have for me, Mr. Moon."

She hardly expects the arch of his brow and the surprised chuckle, but he catches her completely off guard when he curls his hand around hers and deftly spins her into a low dip.

"Not bad, Dawson. I stand corrected." Her arm flails as she loses her balance while standing, and Austin's hand tightens around her waist until she's safely upright. "Passable."

She looks at him sharply. "Passable? Check your jacket, Moon."

A grin spreads across his face as he nods silently in the direction of her hip. Ally looks down to see the tiny communications device she'd planted on his lapel, hidden instead in the folds of her skirt.

"Pulling closer was good; drew the focus to your face, not your hands. But the lapel? Too easy." Austin's voice is smugly self-satisfied. He winks at Ally, standing stunned with the device in her palm, then turns to walk away. "I'll meet you at the car in fifteen minutes. Remember Dawson, it's not amateur hour." He quips, pulling his sunglasses back on as he leaves. He's ten steps out the door, mentally patting himself on the back and thinking that teasing Ally Dawson could be surprisingly fun, when he hears a crackling noise coming from his left side. He reaches up to the left arm of his sunglasses, fingers making contact with something small and metallic.

"You're a thief, Moon. You should know better than anyone; never trust a damsel in distress." The static of the speakers can't disguise the amusement in Ally's voice. "Especially not one trained to take you out in four seconds." She pauses. "With finesse."

"Touche, Dawson. That was mildly impressive." It's only years of acting that let Austin successfully disguise surprise with indifference.

Ally laughs. "One more thing."

"Your wish is my command." Austin replies dryly.

"I'm driving."

The line clicks shut and Austin finds himself smiling as he slips the device from his ear. He's not used to being thrown off his game, and he'd be lying if he said that Ally Dawson didn't fascinate him.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys! Please let me know what you think; I know Austin's a little bit cranky and Ally's a little bit fiesty, but I hope at the very least that they're still fun to read!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm so sorry about how long it's been guys! These versions of A&amp;A were just a lot more stubborn than I'd expected. I'm not sure where they're going to go from here, and I'm still working through a couple plot directions, but I'll try to get an update as soon as possible. Please let me know what y'all think; hopefully it'll help me sort out where I'm going with them! As always, thanks for reading; you guys are awesome.

* * *

_"__Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant." _

_―____**Joan Didion**_

Ally's training click into gear as she pulls into the winding courtyard of Starr's mansion. She notes the number of guards, checking for the tell-tale bulge of concealed weapons and the ready stance of professional-grade killers. She doesn't even notice herself tapping out the tallies until Austin's eyes dart amusedly to her hands at the wheel.

"Nervous twitch, Dawson? That's adorable."

She's itching to slap the smirk off his face; this boy has the uncanny ability to wreck her composure, but she refuses to let him see it. Ally shifts the car smoothly into park before turning to Austin with an expression of long-suffering patience.

"Can you give me the exact number of entrances and exits to the building?"

Austin blinks at the question and Ally tilts her head.

"What about the height and weight of each of the security personnel?" Austin just blinks. Ally continues. "Here's an easy one. How are we going to bypass the alarm system?"

"Well-" Austin looks mildly chastened as Ally cuts him off.

"Until you can answer those questions, you can just sit there, look pretty, and remember why I'm here."

A flash of chagrin flits across Austin's face for the briefest of moments before his expression relaxes into an easy grin.

"You think I'm pretty, Ally D? I'm flattered."

Ally wrinkles her nose at him. "Hopeless." She mutters under her breath as she steps out of the car, handing the keys to a uniformed valet. Austin shuts his door and offers his arm with a wink as she walks past him, towards the gala's entrance.

"Shall we?" He says as she reluctantly winds her fingers around the crook of his elbow. "Don't look so glum, Dawson. This is supposed to be fun."

The look he shoots her is equal parts determined and mischievous, and Ally softens; for all his ego and bluster, Austin Moon isn't terrible to have on a mission. A frisson of excitement sparks its way up her spine as her mind quiets and she settles into the role of Ally Dawson, songwriter.

"Onward ho, Mr. Moon."

* * *

Austin has a notorious disdain for guns and Ally doesn't need them, so they breeze past security with ease. Austin tilts his head almost imperceptibly to a well-dressed group to their left and Ally straightens minutely, catching the tail end of the conversation. Evidently, Jimmy Starr has yet to make an appearance this evening and the natives are getting restless. She recognizes the practiced nonchalance of young Hollywood, and identifies two of the group as the stars of LA's latest cinematic blockbuster. They're too young, bored, and new to the trade to be of use to Starr, but Ally files away their conversation for later use. She and Austin walk through the doors of the ballroom and he whistles under his breath.

"We're not in Kansas anymore."

The room is alight with glittering gowns and gilded chandeliers, champagne fountains and hundreds of dangling string lights. There's a string quartet across the floor, tables of hors d'oevres lining the walls and waiters gliding through the crowds of guests with choreographed grace. Just as Ally turns to reply to Austin, there's a minute shift in the air. A murmur travels through the guests as they turn towards the door, where the Starrs have finally made their entrance. Kira Starr, while impeccably dressed, looks slightly harried as she smiles tightly at the guests around her. Her father, in contrast, looks the picture of the benign sovereign as he seamlessly charms his guests. Ally is sure that behind the warm grin and hearty handshake, Starr is calculating the monetary value of every interaction he'll have tonight. She turns to Austin and he shoots her a conspiratorial wink.

"Showtime."

"Break a leg, Moon."

She watches as Austin stops briefly to greet a group of women, laughing a little as one of them trips when he grins at her.

"Been there." She murmurs sympathetically, scanning the rest of the ballroom. She pauses suddenly, blinking as she processes her own words.

_Oh boy._

* * *

An hour later, Ally's made herself comfortable at the open bar. She's not drinking tonight, but it's the best place to pretend to be engaged while keeping an eye on the ballroom floor. She's caught on to the pattern in the guards' rotations by now, while keeping an eye on her partner and their target. Ally takes a sip of water to disguise her expression as her eyes glide over the milling guests, searching for a distinctive head of blond hair. She's loathe to admit it, but Austin Moon is very good at what he does. A wink here, a grin there, and he's effortlessly charmed his way through the crowd of people surrounding Jimmy Starr. Starr seems to be telling a dramatic story to his enraptured audience and as Jimmy lifts his arm, Ally sees Austin make the lift. Austin gracefully extricates himself from the conversation before swiftly crossing the ballroom and disappearing through the double doors with the slightest of nods in her direction. Ally waits her requisite ten minutes before stepping lightly from her bar stool and winding her way through the crowd with a lazy, feline grace that she only ever finds when she's on the job. Smiling sweetly at the guards in the hallway, she steps into the women's restroom and checks all the stalls. Satisfied that she's alone, Ally unscrews the vent above the sink before hoisting herself into the air ducts. She orients herself for a second, before heading down the duct that she knows will take her to Starr's private wing. In a matter of minutes, she's lowering herself from the ceiling, dropping silently onto the balls of her feet. She hears a low whistle and whips around. She's clicking her knives out of their holsters just she sees the blond down the hall, hands tucked into his pockets, chuckling. She straightens and clicks the knives back into place.

"Nice of you to wait, Moon." She says wryly, hip-checking Austin to get to the door behind him. He lets her through with an exaggerated bow.

"I live to please, Dawson." He deadpans as she crouches next to the lock.

"Mhm. And I'm a monkey's uncle."

* * *

"Just break down the wall." Austin's leaning against the wall, amused, as Ally studies the door with a concentrated scowl. She takes two bobby pins from her hair and begins to fiddle with the lock and Austin crosses his arms to settle further into poised nonchalance.

"It's not going to work, Dawson." He's alert for guards, but the hallway's deserted, and in the back of his mind Austin notes absently that a few tendrils have escaped from the twisted bun at the nape of Ally's neck. He reaches out to push them behind her ear, catching himself in time to pull his hand back just as she turns.

"You're such a pessimist."

"It's an easy solution. Just break down the wall."

She snorts. "While we're at it, why don't we grab a megaphone and just announce to Starr that we're here? This is why you need me, Moon. Subtlety is definitely not your strong suit." She breathes in sharply as the lock clicks. Swinging the door open, Ally turns around with a barely hidden smile. "After you, Mr. Fists of Fury."

"That is a terrible nickname." Austin tugs on a tendril of hair as he walks past her. "And my way would have worked too. It had flair."

"Flair is just a euphemism for unprofessional conduct." Ally says primly, sliding the door shut behind them. She turns straight into Austin's chest and lightly presses a hand against his shoulder. "Whoa buddy."

"I think a little unprofessional conduct keeps things interesting." His voice is low as he leans in, boxing her against the door.

"Okay Casanova. Put your rear in gear and find the safe." She slides deftly under his arm, ruffling his hair as she moves towards the desk in the center of the room.

He stares dumbfoundedly at her retreating back. "Did you just use the phrase 'put your rear in gear'? Are you eighty years old?" He shakes his head as he walks towards the safe. "Talk about unprofessional conduct."

"It is a common expression. People love fun rhymes. Rhymes are the spice of life." Ally says indignantly, standing up from the drawer she had been rummaging through. "You're just upset because nothing rhymes with Austin."

"Plenty of things rhyme with Austin. Lost in. Tossed in. Cost in."

"Those are all two words. That totally doesn't count."

"What are you, the final word on all rhyming everywhere?" Austin whistles as he runs a hand over the frame of a Warhol. "This is an incredible fake."

"I'm not the final word on rhyming everywhere. Just your rhymes. Because you abuse rhyming privileges as an artist." Ally says primly, then tilts her head in the direction of the painting. "Also, Starr can definitely afford the real thing. Which gets a girl thinking. What's he doing with a fake?"

"You know you're not really a songwriter and I'm not a singer, right? Rhyming's not exactly a big part of my career." Austin says absently, still focused on the Warhol painting. There's more space between the frame and the wall than the canvas requires, and he lifts the piece to confirm a theory. Sure enough, embedded in the wall is a small door with a state-of-the-art lock. "All these corrupt billionaires are so predictable." He taps his fingers against the frame of the painting. "They could at least make it a little interesting for us. This thing is going to take me five minutes, tops."

Ally's voice is full of amusement as she replies. "A thief who only wants the hard jobs. Who woulda thunk it."

"Don't hate the player. Hate the game." Austin shrugs, spinning the lock with his ear to the door. It tumbles into place and he grins in satisfaction. "And so it goes. Just four more to go, Ally D. You can't tell me it wouldn't be more fun if this were harder."

"Don't call me that. Did you just quote Vonnegut?" Ally asks, as she uploads Dez's software onto Starr's desktop. The bug does its work and in a matter of seconds, she's past the firewalls and well on her way to downloading the entirety of his hard drive. She lets the tech do its work, leaning against the desk to look fully at Austin, who is concentrating on the safe with a focus she hasn't seen from him the entire job.

"Hey, I know my way around the literary classics."

"A well-read art thief. You really are cultivating that whole international man of mystery thing, aren't you? Don't tell me you order your martinis shaken, not stirred."

The door to the safe swings open with a soft click and Austin folds the files inside and tucks them into the false soles of his shoes before replacing the papers with mock-ups. He closes the door and hangs the Warhol back up, tilting the frame back to its original position. He turns to Ally, dusting his hands off.

"Beat you." He says brightly. "And as to your question, I prefer scotch. Straight."

The computer beeps just as Ally opens her mouth to respond. Her fingers glide across the keyboard as she taps out a brief code, detaching the silver drive from the computer.

"You're incorrigible." She wrinkles her nose at him as they step out of the office and head back towards the ballroom. "It wasn't a race."

"Don't be a sore loser, Dawson." He says tugging on a loose curl of her hair. "Turn that frown upside down."

She bats his hand away as they approach the corner that'll take them out of Starr's private wing and back to the main hall. "Now I know why you work alone. Behind all that brooding intimidation, you're basically a six-year-old."

"Hey, I'll have you know that first graders are wise bey-" He looks at Ally indignantly as she covers his mouth with her hand.

"Shh. Footsteps." She hisses, pulling him back from the corner. His breath is warm against her palm and she flushes a little as she pulls her hand back quickly, flexing her fingers. "Sorry." She whispers.

The footsteps grow louder and Austin curses softly. "We were almost home free." He sighs, before turning to her. "Trust me?"

She tilts her head. "Why?"

"Because we're going to act out the biggest cliche in the business." He murmurs, mussing his own hair before twining a hand through hers. He wraps an arm around her waist and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself.

"I thought you hated clic-" A few things stop her from finishing her response. Two guard turning the corner, for one; a loud "Hey!" for the other. But mostly, it's because she's suddenly wrapped in cologne and mint and silk, Austin's thumb against her left cheekbone, and a heady, featherlight kiss. Austin tastes like mint and scotch and Ally sinks into his chest for the briefest of seconds, before he whispers something and she remembers that they've got an audience: a stage, characters to play. They both straighten as an angry voice breaks the last of Ally's daze.

"What are you two doing here?"


End file.
